A letter that won't be delivered
by Byzinha Lestrange
Summary: I don't think you can understand how life treats us, Bruce, to truly comprehend the depth of my thoughts and pain, so I'll try to break it down to you – although you'll never read this. / or the one where Selina writes a letter she has no intention on sending. / Post 1x13, T for strong language (a bit) (just a bit, pinky promise)


**Author's note****:** Hey, it's me again! I had this idea this weekend and I couldn't stop thinking about it until I had it written. I just finished typing and I didn't proof read it, but I wanted to post it fast so I hope you look past any mistake the text has. It was completely unintentional.

Also, I ask please for your comprehension, for english is not my first language and I can mess up the most ridiculous things. I do accept constructive criticism, so be nice, please! :(

**Disclaimer:** Gotham and its characters are not mine, even though I could totally adopt Selina Kyle (such bae!). This is a work of fiction, please enjoy!

And don't forget to leave your review at the end, it means oh so much, you have no idea!

* * *

**A letter that won't be delivered  
**A Gotham fanfiction

I'm sorry. It was all my fault, I hope you know that. I bet you don't know that, and I can take the blame for it too.

I don't think you can understand how life treats us, Bruce, to truly comprehend the depth of my thoughts and pain, so I'll try to break it down to you – although you'll never read this. I couldn't allow you to and it feels safer this way. I just really needed to get the words out of me.

Damn, B, you made my life so much more complicated that night when I was just feeding my cats. You showed up with your parents and then my whole life changed (the way that night changed yours too. and Ivy's. we are so intrinsically connected, aren't we? And that's scary as hell).

I'm not sure why I felt so linked to you, like I was responsible somehow; I just kept finding myself checking you up, making sure you were alright and somewhere in between… something happened.

I could label it, but I don't think I want to. I'm close to fifteen and I'm not sure if I can read emotions the right way. Older people always say we are too young to understand things and I actually agree with them.

You see, I have the brains for more stuff than anyone can imagine. I've fooled cops and death and the system more times than you could count. I know poverty and hunger and pain and cold. I've known my mother and what she represents to me, in my heart. I know my place in this city and _that's_ where it got complicated when you entered in my life.

But let's keep the pace and not rush things the way I did. I've learned my lesson.

I don't know how to put it the right way, but there was something about you that made me think we are similar; it can have something to do with the loss of your parents, or the way you decided to stay tall even though it so obviously hurt you. Or maybe it was the determination in your eyes showing that you would not let it go the way people wanted you to.

You see, that's the thing about people who hadn't suffered what we suffer: they don't get it. And I know I don't get you the way _you_ get you, same way you don't get me the way _I_ get me, but I also know that we are dangerously close to understanding ourselves, because that day we ran away together to save our asses we learned something, reached a new level.

Look at me, rushing things again. I'm sorry, I'll try to slow down. (it's just that my brain is too fast and we've got too much history already. I feel a million years old when I'm with you, like I've lived a thousand lives and you were always there. Is that weird?)

Now, I've gotta tell you that detective Gordon has a little bit of a part on the mess we've become. It was the way he talked to you that night (and that's something I can pinpoint exactly in our timeline, B).

Want to know what happened? Okay. I was feeding my cats – alley cats, but mine anyway – after stealing some milk and a wallet. I was there and then you were there and I hid and I saw what happened. Any normal person would've run in the first opportunity. _I_ could've had ran, I know at least seven ways of getting out of that specific alley without getting caught by the cops. But I stayed hidden and I saw the way Gordon talked to you, knowing for sure that he was new here.

It gave me something very similar to hope, _he_ gave me something close to hope. And I know he was talking to you, but that passion, that desire of doing something good, all the justice he was willing to get made me hope that his sparkle wouldn't fade like everyone else's in Gotham did.

Had you been anyone else, had him not been there to say those things, I would have walked away first thing. I swear to God I would. But everything was perfectly calculated, wasn't it? Whoever runs this life business had it all figured out already.

The thing about me being there and knowing all of that gave me something to bargain. I saw an opportunity and I took it the moment I realized my running could be… bouncy.

First time was not very long after, when the Mayor was sending every street kid to juvie. Like you know, I've been there and I don't wish upstate to _anyone_. Lucky me, I had my Ace and made my move. Like I told you, I said it not to get locked up again. Sure I can burst out, but I don't want to have to burst out in the first place.

Fooling the police once again, I escaped, ready to go back to doing my thing – pick pockets, steal milk, feed cats, survive. I have no idea how many times I had Jim Gordon under my sleeve and I wonder if he knows he got played by a street kid. Can you guess where I am right now? Jim and Barbara's place, writing this dumb letter in her papers, with her pen and they have no idea. They don't come home in _ages_ and, if you want my opinion, I'm doing them a favor by eating all these fine meat they left to root. You rich people have weird habits, I'll tell you that.

Now, ain't I going too slow? Don't get me wrong, this pen has a nice way of writing, I like it. I could keep it, I think. Once it runs out of ink, it can be used as a weapon. One can never be too careful.

So yeah, I kept doing my thing and all that until I misstepped and got caught and then next thing I know, Gordon is telling me he's taking me to your house. _Your_ house, like it's no big deal at all. Unbefuckinglievable.

Sure there was no way he could know it was a big deal, he didn't know me. Like you, all he cares about is solving this damn crime. Motherfucking justice, you are justice for _who_ exactly? Were you for me when my mom left me on the streets and never came back?

I'm not here to philosophy, though, nor looking for pity, so let's skip it and get moving, because the thing was: to stay in your home, with you, for a few days, wasn't supposed to be a big deal to me either. It shouldn't be, but it was.

Why?

That's the part where it gets tricky. It's the part I've started to become aware of what happened and rushed things up. It's where I screwed up. Here's where I take the blame for you not knowing that it was all my fault.

I had never entered the Manor through the front doors, nor seen more than the study room and a couple of other rooms in the first floor (I meant it when I said that your security sucks) and was genuinely amazed by all those fancy things, like your five thousand years old Chinese vase, but you came to greet me and _I saw it_, I saw you double-taking and stuttering like you had seen something beyond your imagination.

That night, after dinner and a bath (an actual bath I didn't take ever since mom and I were kicked out of our house downtown) I looked in the mirror and I felt beautiful. So beautiful it was powerful. I realized that if I played it right, I'd get you to do anything the way I wanted.

Now, _that_ was way too far from what I actually got, but I came close enough. I did get you thinking you were the one who wanted me, the one curious, like I was someone who could read you and make some favors here and there, as if a kiss was my gift to make your life less miserable. Like, he's a _billionaire_, how could he hadn't kissed anybody yet? Imma be a nice girl and give him that nice thing.

Damn Selina. Damn. Played it so well you almost started believing it yourself.

That's me talking in the third person because it was such a dumb move. I underestimated you, Bruce. You played my game, followed my rules, kept loyal and saved my ass. Later, I retrieved your things, sat in my place and…

I feel the urge to label it, although I don't think it needs labeling. Looks like I should, but I'm not sure what it is.

All I know is that it made me come back and it made me kiss you.

It made my heart skip beats and the wind feel good and it made me kiss you. Like that string of adrenaline when you jump from one building to the other growing in your chest. It's not really over when you are on the other side, it just settles down ready for next time.

I've made such a huge mistake by kissing you, B. I don't think you understand, because you came looking for me later. I kissed you and I shouldn't have, because I had to deal with _me_ and the butterflies and, for fuck sake, I should have buried it all, but you _saw_ me. You saw me and that's the worst thing you could do, for I couldn't help it anymore.

You broke a wall, Bruce. You have no idea how long it will take to build it up again.

That broken wall opened the Pandora box. And by that I have to admit to you that you changed me. I know I've told you before, but you are right, I'm not nice. Hearing it from you, though, gave me perspective and I found myself doing things I never thought I would, like helping people and thinking twice before doing or saying things that could be hurtful.

All the time you were away I was on the streets and for once in my life I was being nice not only to my cats, but to people (I bet Ivy is still trying to figure out the change).

I was so confused.

When Ivy told me she met you on the streets looking for me (and showed me the 20 bucks you had handed over to get the message delivered), I didn't know what to expect. There were the skipped beats in my heart and the news that you were finally back, but I thought you knew better than go looking for me. I had to know what you wanted and you got me curious.

They say that curiosity killed the cat, don't they?

Haha, that's funny.

Curiosity, that afternoon, killed us, Bruce.

The fact that you brought me a present, physical proof that you were thinking about me while away, was delightful and I was so grateful. Even though I wouldn't have where to put it, I still loved and yes, that was what I was thinking about, in my mind like "this is so cute and lovely, where would I keep it, I need to find somewhere to put it", but then you had to keep on talking, didn't you?

No, don't feel bad. Know that the fact that you kept talking, although it released the kraken, was a good thing. It really was, it led us to where we are now.

To be clear, I'm thankful for your big mouth.

I don't mean to be confusing, so I'll explain all the little bits, okay?

You once said that you didn't know why I would want to kiss you, unless I had a mysterious reason behind it and, even though I was dying to reply with "because I would be your fucking first kiss", I wasn't sure you could handle cussing just yet. Besides, you were right, I had reasons, same way you were right about us no being a match.

(for the record, I'm guessing you grew a pair of balls since last time we met and you can handle cussing ever so naturally. Damn, you must be King's Speech-ing right now)

Sure we were friends. I had never found someone so fun to make fun off that would also make me question and think. I've always had to do the thinking on my own.

The problem was that you didn't (couldn't?) understand that I had to shield myself against the world. And as cheesy as it sounds, you had become my world. Somehow, during those two weeks, you almost convinced me that I belonged to that universe of yours. The more I tried to stick to _me_ – through my clothes or my smart mouth – the more you pulled me in.

Like I told you, to go back to the streets, even though it is my natural turf, was extremely confusing.

That exact moment you told me to stay and one day testify… that was the exact moment of light that I remembered who I really am: a street girl with no parents, no money, no alibi, no trust. You had way too much faith in me, B, and that would end up oh, so badly, you know, for me.

You were the world, Bruce. You had become everything and I almost forgot, but I'm nobody.

(wait for it)

Don't get it wrong, it'd be incredible to live in the Manor again, with you and a roof and a bed and hot baths in the cold winter of Gotham. It'd be the perfect fairytale out of a kid's book. It'd be everything a girl could dream of.

But, you see, if I ever dreamed (or daydreamed) about anything in my life, it was about having my mom back. I mean it, not even in my wildest dreams I imagined having more than the woman I love and our old house downtown. I know that I already lived in your house, but to live there again would be… just…

It'd be so perfect, Bruce.

But remember when I said I'm no one? I'd still be no one under your roof. I can picture what I'd become: an amulet, the witness, the saved street girl. Because when would I be more than the street kid who fooled cops and death and the system more times than one can count? When would the label be removed? I highly doubt that there would have a moment when I'd suit your high society life and I could never live with myself.

So yes, thank you. You reminded me of who I am and where I really belong. It was never the Manor, it was never with you. Bruce, I'm a wild thing. My place is everywhere and nowhere at all and I should never had thought that this status would change.

And for remembering me that, I told you about the lie and to stop your poor little stalker job (do you know how much better at it I am?). And, alright, it was rude, I have to admit, but it had to be done.

Tell me we are not stronger now, after all that.

Anyway, I'm sorry for bringing it up so harshly. That's why I'm apologizing, but I figured you wouldn't know for what exactly I would feel guilty. I have a bad habit of not thinking things through (or, sometimes, overthinking them to the point of exhaustion), but you already knew that. It's that instinct kick I have in me.

Hold on, there's more.

I'm sorry for making it look like you were behind every wish of _my_ heart. You were not to blame for every single thing I said or did, it was all on me, but again, I had to shield myself, B. It had to be done.

Bruce… do you want to know why I kissed you? Do you, really? I said I had a reason and here it is: I kissed you because I wanted to. It wasn't clever or overthought, it was just desire and curiosity. It was rushed and childish like the kids we are and I shouldn't have done that, but it was stronger than myself. You interest me, Bruce Wayne, and that kiss… that kiss was entirely your fault, I hope you know that.

I could bet you don't know that and maybe that part is my fault too. At the end of the day, the actions were all mine, right? And we all do what we gotta do.


End file.
